


This Love is Madness

by suchastart



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-06
Updated: 2013-06-16
Packaged: 2017-12-04 10:44:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/709880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suchastart/pseuds/suchastart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Falling in love isn't the hardest fall. A collection of stories that follow Percy and Annabeth throughout their relationship, from the beginning to the end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Life

**Author's Note:**

> These drabbles focus on Percy and Annabeth and are not all related or in any kind of order. Hope you enjoy!

There is another universe out there where he is with Annabeth and they are happy. Maybe they have a small apartment in the city, one with a broken radiator and age-blurred windows and floorboards that creak when they walk from room to room. It is filled with used and comfortable furniture found at flea markets, worn blankets from his childhood, books upon books on sturdy shelves that line the walls like art. Weapons rest on the same shelves as their DVDs and candles; nectar and ambrosia wait in their pantry next to cereal boxes and crackers. It is a confused mess of two worlds smashed together, and sometimes he gets overwhelmed thinking about the dual lives they try to lead, but it is theirs, all of it. It is home.

Here, Annabeth curls up on the couch with her sketchbooks and fills pages with her dreams of towering columns and gables, fountains and statues and gardens. Here, Percy leans back and flips through the channels on the television, rubbing circles into the cold soles of Annabeth's feet, kicked up into his lap.

Here, they sit on the kitchen floor at three in the morning and eat pasta from the pan, take long gulps from the same bottle of wine. They can laugh about certain things, now, talk in low voices about others—like Thalia, Bianca di Angelo, Charlie and Silena, Luke. They talk about their parents, about Olympus, about what might come next. Percy plays with the fingers on Annabeth's left hand and thinks about the ring he's stashed at the bottom of their closet. It's slim, silver, with an inlay of pearlescent coral, and he starts to sweat every time he thinks about it. Annabeth, oblivious, as far as he knows, leans over to kiss him. She takes like wine and chapstick and he can't look away.

Here, they sleep in until noon and shower until the water runs cold. Here, they come back from quests scratched and bleeding and exhausted, patch their wounds, fall into bed and fall into each other until the night is impossible to resist. They get take-out and invite Grover and Clarisse and Will over, try to keep the Stoll twins from breaking everything they own, hope that Rachel doesn't succumb to any prophecies that might throw their lives into more chaos.

Here, they build something they hadn't known possible. They still search for new demigods, visit camp, take occasional trips to Olympus, and fight monsters on the way to dinner, but these things gradually become parts of their everyday lives, their new normal.

There exists this other universe, somewhere, where he is with Annabeth and they are happy. Percy does not know what this place is like, but as he and Annabeth fall through open darkness, Tartarus waiting to catch them somewhere far below, he feels this other life press an ache against his chest. He misses it. He misses the warmth of their place in the summer, the slick slide of Annabeth's skin against his as they lie in bed, the way her candles light a fire in her eyes and make the rooms smell like vanilla and sugar.

He misses a place he has never been, a life he has never lived, but he is here, with her. They are together. And wherever they are headed, that will have to be enough.


	2. Prayers

The months that Percy is gone are spent in a kind of disbelieving, frenetic haze. Annabeth searches for him during the day, pouring over maps and books and pages upon pages that lie open on her laptop, waiting for updates, but there's no trace of a tall, ocean-eyed man-boy who can control the seas and talk to horses. She tosses drachma upon drachma into rainbows, speaks to people and creatures that she and Percy have helped on their quests, begs for news—any kind of news, good or bad—but there is nothing. He has vanished. Gone.

She doesn't believe it.

Percy and Grover have an empathy link, one that has grown dull and empty, one that has not been severed, so they know that something odd has happened. It's not surprising; something _odd_ seems to happen to them every so often, something that forces them to save the world, over and over, something that makes them hate their parents a little bit more each time. And though she and Percy don't share any kind of link the way he and Grover do, she's convinced that she'd know. If something terrible had happened to Percy, she would know.

So she looks for him. She takes quests that allow her to go beyond the camp's borders, scours news stories that might have anything to do with demigods or monsters, loiters around the Big House in hopes that a messenger might deliver word of Percy, her stupid Seaweed Brain.

And at night, she sneaks into his cabin, slips under his sheets, and prays.

Her father has his God—singular He—despite knowing of her gods. He has a leather-bound Bible on his bookshelf, pages worn down, given to him by his grandfather. Annabeth isn't sure if it's a belief built from familiarity or something he holds on to in respect and remembrance, but she recalls times that she's seen him before meals or going to bed, head bowed, lips murmuring silent words she couldn't catch. Prayers, words sent up in thanks and appreciation and devotion.

There aren't any prayers that she knows, or gods that she might pray to that would help. She pulls Percy's covers up around her shoulders and rests her head on his pillow— _his_ pillow, that smells more of her than it does him, now—and thinks of her mother, too wise, too knowing, too detached from the whipping fever of human emotion. Has her mother ever known the heartache of missing someone lost? Has she ever wished with all of her being to just have one person, one thing, with her again?

Annabeth doesn't cry. She closes her eyes and breathes deep the smell of sea water and worn wood and fraying, tested rope and thinks of him. She is going to find him. She just needs a little help. A clue, a hint, something that might guide her towards the right path. Something out in the world knows where Percy is— _please_ , she thinks, wishes, _please, help me bring him back._


	3. Beginning

Percy spends his summer after high school graduation on the lake at Camp Half Blood, building a cottage. It’s hard work—harder than he thought, even with all the help from his friends, even with the overly-precise blueprints he dug out from the bottom of Annabeth’s desk drawer—but he knows that it’s worth it. He knows that, once Annabeth gets back from her jaunt around the Mediterranean, she is going to love it.

Days pass. Endless days filled with sunshine and strawberries and splinters in his palms, Iris messages full of smiles and promises, hearts bursting with the future.

Each day, the cottage nears completion. Floors, frames, walls. Windows. A roof. His chest tightens when Grover helps him attach the front door. It’s stupid to get emotional over something so small, Percy knows that, but it doesn’t feel small. It feels like the biggest thing in the world, this door. A vivid teal color, brass handle, knocker in the shape of a trident with etchings of owls. He knows what this means.

He only hopes that Annabeth does.

The day she’s due to return, it’s a warm August afternoon, and the sun peers through the white, airy curtains in their sparse sitting room. Percy paces the short hallway. What if she doesn’t like it? He never asked her permission to use her design—only remembered a time before Tartarus, before the Battle of Manhattan, before they became heroes—a time when she stared wistfully across Long Island Sound and told her that she dreamt of building something that was all hers, something that would last. And after everything, that’s what he wanted for her. A place she could call home. And him, too, if she wanted.

So he paces, walks from the sitting room to the kitchen, down the hall to the bedroom. Hers? Theirs? He stands in the doorway and sees himself there, in the trident that’s perched in the corner next to her weapon stand; the comics that rest on her bookshelf; the warm, blue blanket his mom gave to him stretching across the bed. He hasn’t moved her things from the Athena cabin in yet—he doesn’t want to get presumptuous—but he’s set aside room in the small closet for her scrolls and artefacts, room in the dresser for her clothes.

And as he looks at the empty spaces just waiting for her touch, he realizes that he already thinks of this place as theirs.

A knock at the door has his heart falling to his feet.

She’s here. She’s here. What’s she going to say?

_Oh gods._

“Perce?” Grover. Just Grover. “Hey, man. Annabeth’s at the Big House. You might want to at least stand on the porch so she knows what’s going on.”

She’s here. Percy nods to himself. _She’s going to love it_ , he tells himself, again and again and again, opening the front door and hovering on the porch that overlooks the Camp. Grover sits on the swing. They both wait for Annabeth to come out of the Big House. Percy’s not sure that he can move.

And then he sees her—hair like spun gold, sun-tanned skin, long, bare legs. Beautiful. Beautiful not because he hasn’t seen her all summer but because she’s Annabeth and everything is impossible without her. His fingers itch to touch her. Clarisse distracts her, talking about whatever, as she steps from the Big House, as they walk a few feet into camp. When she turns and sees the cottage, sees Grover, sees Percy leaning against the column that supports the porch roof, she stops.

Percy waves. He can’t breathe.

She takes a few slow steps forward, then breaks into a run, stopping only when she throws her arms around Percy’s neck and hugs him to her. Her shirt rides up and he feels her, warm like the Grecian sun, sea-smooth like Aegean sands, warm against his hands—gods, did he miss her.

She sighs his name. “Oh, Percy. What is this?”

“It’s…” And when he sees the tears in her eyes, the wonder on her face, his words get caught somewhere in his mouth. He takes her hand and leads her up the few stairs to the porch. “I built it. For you.”

She reaches out her free hand to touch the door knocker, runs her fingers across the trident, traces the owls. Wordlessly she shakes her head. Percy wants to tell her everything—how he remembered her plans; how he talked to Chiron about the huge community in Camp Jupiter and the town that they built, the families they fostered; how he thought they could start something similar here, in New York, if Chiron would support it. He wants to tell her about the windows he built toward the light, so she could sit in a chair and read. He wants to tell her about the solar-panels on the roof and the rug in the bedroom that Juniper wove for them and the painting in the sitting room from his mom.

He wants to ask if she likes it.

“You want to come inside?” he asks instead, placing her hand on the doorknob.

She laughs and swipes at her tears with her other hand. “You built this for me?”

“Something permanent,” he says, nodding, leaning down to press a brief kiss to her lips. _Please_ , he thinks, hopes, prays. Her cloud-gray eyes look right through him, right into his heart, right into the part of his soul that is entirely wrapped up in hers. He loves her entirely too much. He doesn’t know what he’d do if she turned and walked away.

She takes a deep breath, then opens the door.

Percy doesn’t have harpies dancing around in his chest. “Come on,” he says, grinning, watching her take it all in, watching her take her first steps into their home. “Let me show you around.”


	4. Anchor

As the  _Argo II_  speeds towards Kansas, Topeka 32, and whatever awaits them there, Annabeth lies in her bunk and tries to sleep. She knows she needs to, especially now, after finally starting their quest, but she can’t get her thoughts to slow.

She’s found Percy—and he remembers her. The prophesied Seven are finally together, a group she hadn’t exactly expected, a group with a lot of extra baggage. Their journey to Rome has begun. The ship needs repairs. Her mother’s quest sits at the back of her mind, always, like a persistent tick attached to her brain. Leo doesn’t look her in the eye. A chill tingles across her spine…

Annabeth throws back her blanket and gets out of bed. Fresh air. Fresh air will help.

She pulls open her door and pokes her head into the hall. Coach Hodge stopped banging around about three hours ago, and she can hear his bleating snores trying to escape from his room, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t rigged some kind of system to wake him when his demigod charges are sneaking around after curfew. She wants to scoff—they are several thousand feet in the air, on a flying Greek trireme, sailing to what feels like their deaths. What does he think they’re going to do? Jump ship?

(That might not be out of the question, considering.)

But no doors open, nobody comes out, nothing happens at all as she moves quietly down the hallway and makes her way up the stairs. She thinks about waking Percy, but he needs to sleep more than he needs to sit outside with her. They’ve had a long day.

She steps onto the deck, a cool wind pulling goosebumps to her bare arms. There is no sound to the night besides the ship moving beneath her. She walks to the railing, splintered now after the hiccup in New Rome. The  _Argo II_  really is an amazing piece of work, and to look at it now, falling to pieces, she hurts for Leo.

She shivers again. She’s not entirely sure it has to do with the cold.

Deciding that it’s better not to have the sniffles while she’s trying to prepare for battle with Mother Nature, Annabeth sits on the railing next the main control panel for the ship and near Festus, still warm even as a dragon’s head. It’s on autopilot so that Leo can get few hours of sleep. He’s insisted that it’s safe, but Annabeth would rather be nearby. Just in case.

For a while, she enjoys watching the stars, catching low-hanging cloud vapor between her fingers. It’s a nice night, the moon sitting up high, lighting their way; the land stretching wide beneath them.

And for a while, she allows herself to be cold, to be still. There is no telling when she will be able to have another few minutes to herself like this. Of all the quests she’s been a part of, all of the prophecies, not one has felt so suffocating—she must try to be a leader on this team and help to save the world from Gaea, all while trying to find the Mark of Athena and also save her mother. It is both everything and nothing like holding up the sky. The pressure in her chest is crushing.

“Up all alone?”

Annabeth’s heart jerks. She leans backwards, grips the railing so she doesn’t slip off the edge of the ship, and turns to glare at Percy, who stands at the mouth of the stairs with his hands in his pockets, sheepish. Shirtless. Not that she’s staring. “Festus and I were spending some time together,” she says, feeling her face soften as he walks up to her and she can see his messy hair and drawn eyes. “He’s the only one on this boat who doesn’t talk so much.”

Percy shrugs, leaning against the rail and resting his head against her arm. He yawns. They spend a quiet minute looking out at the world before he says, “I don’t know. Jason’s a pretty quiet guy.”

“He’s spent most of the time you’ve known him unconscious.”

 “Yeah.” He grins at her. “I like that about him.”

She can’t help but laugh. It’s brief. Jason, son of Jupiter, strength of his camp. “He’s good, Percy.”

“Yeah.” This time he sighs. It’s weary, heavy, and after he jumps up to sit next to her on the railing, their feet swinging free, his shoulders sink. He opens his mouth to say something else, closes it, then just stares at her. The moon is behind him and the angle of light casts his face in shadow. He knows what she’s thinking—about their new team, about the camps and Hera, about Gaea.

And so she asks: “How are we supposed to do this?”

He shakes his head. He reaches up to rest his hand on her neck, his thumb brushing her cheek. “I just want to kiss you.”

“Percy, come on,” she says, but closes her eyes, anyway. Just a few minutes. She can have just a few minutes with him after spending months searching. He’s here, and he remembers her, and that’s all she’s wanted for what feels like a long, long time.

_Breathe, Annabeth._

She leans in and kisses him, runs her hands through his sleep-messy hair, feels the knot in her chest relax and unravel like a tight ball of string cut loose. Percy’s hands are warm against her face, her neck, her arms and back and legs, and as much as he’s her anchor, he can still make her feel adrift, lost in how much she desperately needs him, loves him. It’s not wise at all, this connection, this piece of her dependent on him. She can hear her mother’s voice, sane, whispering, _He’s a son of Poseidon, my child; he will only leave you to the sea._ But she pulls back, frames his face with her hands, those ocean-green eyes bright, and laughs.

“I missed you.” 


	5. Restless

The baby is pushing right against a tight nerve in her back. It’s not the worst pain, but it’s annoying and awkward and keeping her up. Sooner or later her twisting around trying to find a comfortable position is going to wake Percy, and then they’ll both be miserable. They’ve had a long enough day as it is.

So Annabeth struggles to push herself out of the bed. She ends up rolling, then sliding the rest of the way to her feet. Dumb belly. It’s  _massive_. 

Quietly, she makes her way (waddles; she waddles now) out of the bedroom, steps down the hall to the dark sitting room. She could read, or draw, or mess around with designs on Daedalus’s laptop, or do some cleaning up in the kitchen. She could pretend to be a little productive. Or she could sit in her armchair and just enjoy the last month of silence she’s going to get for a long, long time. 

That sounds like the best option. 

She makes herself a glass of juice and leans back into her chair, pulling the throw blanket over her legs. The night outside the window is clear. Stars dot the dark dome of the sky, and Annabeth finds Orion straight ahead, the three stars for his belt, the long stretch of his arm. The Hunter. She can’t help but think of Thalia. She hasn’t been to Camp for months. Is she safe? Has she heard about Annabeth’s pregnancy? Would she laugh or be disappointed or—? 

The worry is heavy. Most of their friends or family had been excited. Sally had been beyond the moon, when they’d told her; grinning at any given moment, touching Annabeth’s stomach, going on about how excited she was—her first grandchild!—and how it was great timing, with Annabeth just out of college and Percy taking a directing spot at Camp. Reactions like that make Annabeth just a bit more certain that this is a good thing, that this is meant to happen. 

But her mother hadn’t been as thrilled. Annabeth wasn’t particularly surprised; Athena had never totally warmed up to Percy. She was pleasant enough, the few times they all came in contact, but it wasn’t a warm, familial relationship between them. It was clear that Athena had a begrudging respect for Percy, tolerated him because Annabeth loved him, and was engaged to marry him, and was carrying his child. 

It was a lot stacked against Athena. Kind of made it clear he’d be around for a while.

So Athena knows. Poseidon knows. He sent a beautiful bassinet made of coral and fossilized sea kelp, embedded pearls and seashells. It currently sits in the corner, waiting for its occupant, waiting for Percy and Grover and everybody he has helping him to finish the extra room they’ve had to add to the cottage. The note that was attached read, “To my newest grandson or granddaughter. Blessings lie ahead.” 

Blessings. Annabeth hopes so. She sits her juice on the windowsill and leans back, closes her eyes. The baby kicks against her hand as she rubs circles onto her belly. Strong, sure kicks. Sign of a fighter. She’s in love with her child already, totally and completely, but there are just a few times, like now, that she’d like to not be expecting. 

Gradually she falls asleep humming a lullaby she’s never heard before, one that sounds like Ancient Grecian music, one that sounds, in her head, oddly familiar. It soothes both Annabeth and the baby like magic.

When she wakes, sunshine pouring into the room, Percy’s moving around in the kitchen, trying (failing) to be silent. At one point he drops a frying pan and curses, looking over to the sitting room with wide eyes. He sighs when he sees she’s awake. “Sorry,” he mumbles, picking up the pan. He places it on the counter and walks over, kneels in front of her. “I was trying to make you breakfast.”

“Appreciate the thought.” She sits up and pushes her arms into the air, as high as she can, and it’s a relief when her joints pop and something in her back lets go. It feels like warm water rushing through her spine. She melts. “Ahhh.”

“Baby keep you up?”

Annabeth nods, then holds out her hands so Percy can help her up. It nags at her, being so dependent, but it’s better than the struggle—and now that Percy does it automatically and she doesn’t have to  _ask_  for help, that kind of makes it easier. “For a while,” she says, leaning her forehead into his chest, trying not to moan as he massages the small of her back. “I think… I think Mom helped. I heard this song in my head, so I hummed along, and it calmed the baby enough so that we could both sleep.”

“That was nice of her.” 

Annabeth nods. Maybe it’s not too hopeless, with her mother. Maybe it’ll just take small steps to get there—baby steps. She snorts. “Baby steps,” she says, dissolving into giggles. 

Percy laughs. “That’s pretty bad, Wise Girl.”

The baby kicks again, wiggles around—agreeing with Percy, she supposes. Already his or her father’s pet. “You aren’t both allowed to gang up on me,” she tells them, standing straight. Percy’s hands go to her belly, his palms warm and wide, and she smiles. Her little family. 


	6. Whispered

The first time she tells Percy that she loves him, they’re crouched behind a cluster of boulders in the woods, playing Capture the Flag. It’s hardly what might be considered the appropriate time—they are sweaty and battle-worn, covered in mud, and she’s pretty sure Clarisse is waiting somewhere nearby, ready to ambush them, but Annabeth looks at Percy and feels her breath expand in her chest. It’s warm. Almost giddy.

There’s a smear of dirt stretching the whole right side of his profile. His nose is bloodied, his hair wet and slicked against his head. He’s attractive, in a technical way—she can appreciate the long line of his nose, his jaw, his even, sun-tanned skin. But because she knows him, knows his fierce loyalty, his fear of letting his friends down, his humor and sarcasm and strength—because she was there when he woke in this new world and stood by his side against gods and monsters and Titans—because she knows how it feels to lie beside him in the grass and hold his hand—she sees how beautiful he is, to his heart.

“Hey,” she says, knocking her knuckles against his arm.

Percy turns his ear toward her, his eyes trained to the trees. The woods are silent and still but that does not mean their friends aren’t out there, looking for the flag. Winners of this game don’t have any chores for a week. It’s no wonder Percy’s focused.

“Hey,” Annabeth says again. She takes hold of his arm and tugs. When he finally turns to her and tilts his head, impatient, eyes narrowed at her stillness, she smiles. She is so full of pride at the person he has become—a hero, he is a hero, a son of Poseidon,  _hers_ —and she wants to pull his face to hers and kiss him until her lips sting, so she does.

When they part, his grin is sideways and goofy, happy. There’s a faint rustle somewhere to her right. Percy is no longer paying attention to anything but her.

“Definitely not complaining,” Percy says, resting his hand on her knee. “You know, we probably have a few minutes.”

And the way he looks at her, like she’s it, like she’s the only person he ever needs or wants to look at ever again—she can’t hold the words in. “I love you,” she says, hand gripping the hilt of her dagger tight. She hadn’t thought about what might happen after.

His face is blank, eyes slowly widening. “I—“

And then Clarisse, with her impeccable timing, stomps through the brush, spear in hand, and runs towards them. Percy pushes Annabeth to the side, and she rolls to her feet as Percy takes the brunt of Clarisse’s attack, Riptide held high against Charisse’s charged spear. Annabeth has just enough time to smirk at Clarisse before the enemy backup arrives, surrounding them, weapons drawn. She and Percy move, gradually, back-to-back, and it’s the most natural feeling, the heat of him against her, the confidence that he will be there, always, even when outnumbered.

“I’ll take her lackeys, you take Clarisse,” Percy says, turning to drop a kiss to her cheek. His eyes are bright and smiling and waiting. “And then we’ll talk.”


	7. Accusation

There’s something to the air in the underworld that slows their fall, something that makes it feel like being dropped into water, something that smells like rotting flesh and sulfur and burning, but that doesn’t mean hitting the ground doesn’t hurt. Pain slices into every part of her body. Her breath leaves her. She blacks out.

Later, when she blinks awake, it’s dark. She can move—slowly, so slowly, because it feels like her bones are ready to shatter—and she reaches out to find a rough rock wall at her left. A cave. Besides the far-off sounds of screaming and her own uneven breathing, it’s quiet. As her eyes adjust, she squints into the darkness, finds herself in an empty dome-shaped hollow. Not a prisoner, then. Not yet.

Tartarus.

Annabeth stifles a moan. 

It’s her fault. It’s all her fault. Why hadn’t she just cut the damned webbing? It would’ve been easy—a few slices with her dagger, tossing it to the side, stepping free. The Athena Parthenon could’ve waited a few seconds for her to cut herself loose. She and Percy could’ve been with the others right now, sailing toward Camp Half Blood, toward home.

And now, she doesn’t even know where Percy is, she doesn’t have a weapon, and they have just a few days to make it through the worst prison imaginable to find the Doors of Death.

The logistics of it all are dizzying. She allows herself to cry for few moments more. If she wraps her arms around her knees and pulls herself in tight, she can almost pretend to be somewhere else, can almost convince herself that this is just a disgustingly convincing nightmare. What are they going to do? Arachne’s out there somewhere with a grudge. Typhon, Gigantes, Titans; all of their old enemies. There are no resources. No backup.

They don’t stand a chance. They are going to die down here.

There’s a shuffle behind her. Heart thumping, Annabeth turns as best she can, sees Percy stumble into the cave and drop to his knees.

“Percy,” she gasps, crawling to him. His arm is shredded, and in the dim, near-green light from the cave opening, his blood looks black. There’s soot rubbed into his face. His skin is damp with sweat. She doesn’t know what to say but his name, over and over, as her hands hover uselessly. “Percy.”

He leans forward until his forehead rests against hers. “I found your dagger. Fell in with us. Looks like the Gods are looking out for us, after all.”

And he laughs.

Annabeth pries the dagger from his hands and drops it, wraps him in her arms. His laughter turns to broken sobs, and he holds her around the waist, his face tucked into her neck.  _My fault,_ Annabeth thinks as his shoulders shake, as his hands grip at her shirt.  _You should’ve let me go,_ she wants to tell him, because he could’ve been fine. Nico and Hazel could’ve pulled him to the surface. He would’ve boarded the  _Argo II_ with them, sailed to New York, allied the Greeks and the Romans. He would’ve figured out how to fix things. He didn’t need her.

_Why didn’t you just let me go?_

She holds him until he stills. It doesn’t take too long. She keeps her hands at his waist as he pulls away, wiping at his face, the soot and sweat and tears smearing around. His eyes, though bloodshot and near hidden with dirt, are still clear as the sea. “Don’t,” he says.

“What?”

“Don’t tell me I should’ve dropped you.” He picks up her dagger and presses it into her palm. Riptide is in his hand a second later, gleaming in the low light. Percy struggles to his feet. He reaches out for her. “Come on.”

And he looks so assured, now—so confident in her, so unfazed by the impossible task set before them. She places her hand in his and he helps her stand, mindful of her bubble-wrapped ankle, careful of his mangled arm.

Tartarus.

“Okay,” Annabeth says, breathing deep, and she takes her first steps out of the cave and into the thick, hazy light of their newest quest.


	8. Formal

“Mom. She is going to be here  _any minute._  Could you please not?”

Except Sally keeps the camera out, the flash reminding him too much of memories of gods and drama he’d rather avoid, and Percy thinks seriously about just meeting Annabeth downstairs in the lobby. It’s high school prom—it’s not a big deal. One of the only reasons he’s going is to appease his mother.  _But Percy, it’s prom,_ his mother had told him when she found the invitation stuffed in the trash can, lingering on the word like it held some special, long-lost meaning for her.  _You don’t want to miss your prom, do you?_

Percy tugs at his tie.

Yes. Yes, he does.

But it makes his mother happy to adjust his tie and smooth her hands down the lapels of his suit. He is taller than her now, and he looks down to see the lines of her face shift and change when she smiles, when her eyes water and blink. He starts to pull away—if there is anything he is weak against in this world, it is the women he loves crying—but she shakes her head and swats at his chest. Luckily, thankfully, there is a knock at the door.

Sally laughs. Percy wonders if she can tell his heart is jumping around in his chest. Either it’s a pizza guy or it’s Annabeth, and he’s pretty sure nobody called for delivery.

“Sounds like your date is here,” Sally says, moving to the door. She says something else—a joke? She smiles, so it must’ve been a joke, but everything’s white noise and Percy’s jumpy and it feels like his whole body is itching. Why is he so nervous? It’s just Annabeth.

It’s just Annabeth.

It’s just Annabeth he sees when his mom opens the door, just Annabeth in a long silver dress and golden curls piled high on her head, just Annabeth with slick red lips and sparkling gems at the corners of her eyes, just Annabeth and her shy smile that sends summer-warm currents through his chest.

Gods, when is she ever  _just_ Annabeth?

“Hi,” she says, stepping into the room.

When Percy doesn’t say anything—can only stare at her, unable to form words—Sally makes a  _tsk_ sound and moves to hug Annabeth. “You look amazing,” she says, pulling away, hands resting on Annabeth’s brown shoulders.

Amazing. Yes, amazing. He should probably—maybe he should—

“Percy?” Annabeth reaches out for his hand. Her fingers push through his, squeeze, and Percy feels himself come out of his daze.

“You,” he begins, his other hand resting against her cheek. He cannot get over how beautiful she is, how different she looks from the twelve-year-old girl he saw leaning over his cot in the Infirmary, who kissed him at Mount Saint Helens and took a knife for him at the Battle of Manhattan. She has grown older and wiser and each day more beautiful and he doesn’t know how or why or what has possessed her to stay with him, but here she is, looking at him like she has no place she’d rather be.

As if his mother isn’t standing nearby with a camera, Annabeth reaches up and pulls Percy’s face down, pressing her red-slick lips against his, and Percy realizes that he never finished his sentence. The world flashes.  _You,_  he said. And somehow, Annabeth knows him well enough to fill in the rest.


End file.
